Sport 2: Autumn 1989
At times the river deserts us
and we're left to burn
unlaved, unsuckled, stripped bare.
Cattle scrunch and kick us
on their way to the water,
shower us with drips and spatter us
with dung on their return.
We live better.under water, the river's
clear varnish crinkling above us,
the underbellies of fish
cream as moonlight. Twigs and leaves
and insects and trees sweep by
without any say in where
they're going, while we cosily settle
and watch the clouds swoon
in the filmy blue. We belong in water
untroubled by envy for anything
born to live in the loneliness of air.